


zou bisou bisou

by forochel



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28396938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forochel/pseuds/forochel
Summary: New Year's Eve: a long-running misunderstanding, a fumbling conversation, and a kiss.
Relationships: Kang Younghyun | Young K/Kim Wonpil
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	zou bisou bisou

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER: fictional work about fictional representations of real people.**
> 
> title from [the eponymous song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4SCtjcEJKc). this song is as cute as kim wonpil.

* * *

It was easy to sit with Wonpil, whether in comfortable silence or when embarking on one of their band's sprawling, neverending discussions.

Tonight was a case of the former; just the two of them were left in the dorm, with everyone else gone home (or a family friend's home) for the short break. One of the broadcasting station end of year shows was playing on the TV turned down to low, more background noise than anything else. The bright colours and flashy costumes, their prerecorded contribution, all forgotten in favour of the view from the window.

They'd migrated over at Wonpil's exclamation, and now all was quiet and soft, the sky the light-hazed navy-mauve-grey as it snowed: thick, fat flakes that stuck to the windows for a long, few seconds before melting away.

"No party?" Wonpil asked, after a lull in their desultory conversation so long Younghyun thought he might have fallen asleep.

The question brought a faint smile to Younghyun's face. Funny, how Wonpil remembered things from years ago. The last New Year's Eve party Younghyun had attended had been in the first year of their debut.

Younghyun shook his head. "Everyone's on dates or with family."

"Ah." Wonpil dug his chin into the shallow valley of his throw, slung between his knees. He sounded almost disappointed. Strange. "I'm going home tomorrow, for lunch."

"I know."

Wonpil had mentioned it earlier, sandwiched between a discussion about what to order for dinner and wondering what kind of catering the concert performers were getting. If nothing, their talk had given Younghyun a few ideas about what to go out and get the next day.

A hesitation hung in the air between them, so palpable that Younghyun turned to look at real Wonpil, not the one in the dark mirror of the window. He could better appreciate the way Wonpil's eyelashes fanned out against the tops of his stubbled cheeks like this.

"Hyung, do you want to come along?" Wonpil said mostly to his knees, eyes still closed, like he'd blinked and forgotten to open his eyes again. "Eomma's always happy to feed you."

A note of tension thrumming underneath the invitation made something under Younghyun's ribs come to attention.

"Sure," he said as casually as he could. "Thank you."

Wonpil smiled briefly. His eyes were still shut. "She always asks about how everyone is doing, so she'll be happy to see you too."

"I'm happy to see Eomonim too."

"Okay." Wonpil turned his face slightly, so that gentle quirk of his lips was directed Younghyun's way. It was like he was too tired to smile properly. His eyes had been closed for at least the last five minutes.

"Pilie, if you're sleepy, just go to bed." Younghyun reached out and gripped his bicep. "Come on, the snow won't melt by tomorrow morning."

Wonpil's eyes slit open; his mouth pursed into a pout. He looked, Younghyun realised with a jolt, _upset_.

"Or not," said Younghyun hastily. "You just looked sleepy. And it's going to get cold out here."

Feeling very, very confused, Younghyun watched as Wonpil opened his mouth and then closed it, freed a hand from his blanket to push his fringe off his forehead, heaved a deep sigh. And then dropped his face back between his knees, hiding in his blanket. He muttered something, too muffled to make out.

"Hey." Younghyun shuffled closer to Wonpil on his bum and slid his hand across Wonpil's shoulders to give him a little side-hug-and-shake. "What is it?"

Wonpil shook his head, his wild curls that Younghyun always, _always_ felt so tempted to bury his fingers in bouncing with the sideways motion. His shoulders curved in under Younghyun's grip, his back rose and fell with another deep breath in and out.

Then Wonpil finally shifted a little, just enough that he could be heard, even if his face was still obscured.

"Hyung" — he sounded small and plaintive; it made Younghyun feel like the cold outside had found its way in and gripped his heart — "am I being an idiot?"

Feeling a little like he was groping his way through a sudden thick fog, Younghyun gaped at the back of Wonpil's head for a good few seconds.

"N-no? What makes you say so?" A tiny bell rung in his brain, then. "Wait, have you been reading comments online? You know you're not — you know that the fans mean it as a joke, right?"

"Hyung—"

"Because you know you actually _are_ some kind of genius, right?" Younghyun barrelled right on; it was very important that Wonpil understood this. "And that it doesn't matter how smart — it doesn't matter, when you have that heart of yours."

"My heart," Wonpil repeated, sounding hollow.

A burst of applause startled Younghyun momentarily. Oh — the television. A performance had just concluded. He hadn't even noticed.

"Yes," Younghyun said. "Your kind heart."

Wonpil sagged under his arm and muttered something to himself again; this time, Younghyun actually managed to catch something of what he was mumbling: _my stupid heart_.

"Hey," said Younghyun reproachfully. Maybe Wonpil was ridiculously tender-hearted and could do with better boundary-setting, but it wasn't _stupid_.

This time, when Wonpil unearthed himself enough to be half-visible, the wet gleam of tears in his eyes was unmissable.

"Oh shit." Younghyun's mind went blank. "Wonpil-ah, what —"

"Stop," sniffed Wonpil. "Stop being so fucking _nice_."

And now it felt like Younghyun had fallen right into a swamp, because of the blinding fog of alarmed confusion.

"I'm not nice, you're nice."

Younghyun had to shut his own eyes once the idiocy of what he'd said hit his ears. He wasn't sure what to do about the wet giggle from Wonpil.

"We're both nice." Wonpil pulled away to lean against the glass. He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist. The upturned, round tip of his nose was red. "That's the —" he swallowed the rest of his sentence with a gulp and shook his head.

"Hey, no." Younghyun caught Wonpil's hands in his own and held on firmly when Wonpil tried jerking away; he was abruptly filled with the certain terror that if Wonpil got away there would be no resolution to this; Younghyun would not be able to rest easy with Wonpil's smiles ever again. "Come on, tell hyung what's wrong."

Wonpil's eyes were big and swallowing dark when he lifted his gaze to meet Younghyun's at long last; something jolted down Younghyun's spine at the look in them, supercharged the sour fear in his chest, kicked his brain back into motion.

"Is it..." Younghyun frowned. "You said, stop being nice. I don't...why wouldn't I be?" And what he couldn't say: why wouldn't he be nice, specifically to Wonpil, who was so dear.

Shaking his head, Wonpil looked out of the window. Snow squalled through the grey night sky. "It's confusing."

"Confusing...?"

Wonpil turned abruptly back, glaring through tears. "Do you really not know?"

Younghyun flinched back a little from the sudden intensity.

"How," demanded Wonpil, his fingers trembling in Younghyun's grip, "can you _not know_? How can you not know what you — what you _do to me_?"

"Um," Younghyun tried — because he — the fog was clearing and the landscape resolving into clarity was at once both familiar and fundamentally changed.

But Wonpil was undammed, and had more to say: "Why would you, why — you're always saying _nice_ things, and you're always _there_ , and — and _touching_ me and _noticing_ me and _looking_ , and I thought, I thought—" he faltered to a stop.

The thing, the tragically ironic thing, Younghyun thought wildly, was that for all his facility with words and writing lyrics off-the-cuff, he was coming up empty right now, when he needed the words the most.

Wonpil was back to the small, quiet mumble as his gaze dropped. "I thought my heart would be safe with you."

Younghyun's own heart clenched whilst the bottom of his stomach fell out. It fell all the way down to the underground parking garage of their building.

"Wonpilie..." he whispered, overwhelmed. "Wait, Wonpilie—"

"That's why," Wonpil interrupted, sounding firmer this time and trying to untangle their fingers. "That's why I —"

"Me too!" Younghyun half-shouted, caught in a frenzy. "I like you too!"

Wonpil's head whipped up; his eyes were very wide. "Don't —"

"I mean it," said Younghyun. "Fuck, I'm sorry I never — I didn't think —"

 _TEN_ , the television suddenly blared, louder than all the melting buzz of before. They both jumped. Sudden inspiration seized hold of Younghyun.

"It's already midnight?" Wonpil murmured at the television.

"Pilie!" Younghyun said loudly, freeing a hand to turn Wonpil's face back to himself. Wonpil was blinking hard, lower lip tucked under his front teeth. More quietly, Younghyun hurried on: "You know, there's a tradition in the West, when midnight strikes."

He knew that Wonpil knew; there had to be at least twenty Hollywood romcoms out there with this scene. Wonpil must have watched at least half of them. Wonpil's eyes got wider.

 _SIX_!

"Hyung," Wonpil said desperately, "please —"

"I'm very serious, Kim Wonpil," said Younghyun, and even managed not to sing anything. "I really like you a lot."

"I'm dizzy," Wonpil murmured to himself.

Younghyun didn't bother saying _don't be_ , as the cheers on the television defied the volume controls.

_THREE!_

He tipped Wonpil's face up.

_TWO!_

Wonpil's lips parted.

_ONE!_

Younghyun leaned in.

*

**A SHORT WHILE LATER:**

"You thought we were dating," Younghyun said blankly.

Wonpil nodded; even though Younghyun's bedroom was very dark, Younghyun fancied he could see Wonpil's ears burning. The warmth against his collar was probably Wonpil blushing. He soothed a hand down Wonpil's back.

"Why?" Younghyun asked. It wasn't like he'd ever even tried making out with Wonpil on any of the many occasions they'd been alone together. Sure, they'd sometimes held hands, but that wasn't — was it? Every single time Wonpil had cuddled up to his side in private or amiably submitted to Younghyun slinging an arm around his shoulders on broadcast was now cast in new light. At the time, Younghyun had merely resolved to silently, guiltily enjoy what he could get.

"You always came when I called," Wonpil murmured. "And ... and everything else."

Wonderingly, Younghyun buried his hands in Wonpil's hair. His curls were as soft as they had been half an hour ago, when he'd kissed Wonpil by the window. When Wonpil had kissed him back, and then pulled away, smacked him, and kissed him again.

"I hadn't realised I was being so obvious," Younghyun settled on. It was clear that Wonpil needed — exactly what Younghyun had been blindly giving him anyway. That and certitude. And cuddles in bed.

"The toast halmeoni drew us _a ketchup heart_." Wonpil thumped him in the side. "Hyung, you're so _stupid_."

Younghyun had genuinely thought it all a Christmas marketing scheme. He'd also been sleep deprived after a studio all-nighter and slightly loopy, happy to just smile back at Wonpil happily talking about the cold-clean smell of a winter morning, to watch Wonpil all washed in the clear golden sunrise and moaning a little when he bit into his cabbage-and-egg breakfast sandwich.

Come to think of it, Wonpil's breakfast sandwich moan was a lot like the one Younghyun had pulled out of him earlier, mid-makeout. Younghyun resolved to take it as a compliment. Toast halmeoni was _very_ good at her job.

"I'm sorry, I know, I am," Younghyun said, a little sing-song, punch-drunk with this unexpected and unhoped -or happiness.

Wonpil bit him.

"Ow!" Younghyun yelped. "What the f—"

"Sound more sincere, hyung."

Playfully, Younghyun tugged at a curl. "Or else?"

"Or else I'll tell my eomma you made me cry."

Oh, shit. Younghyun had totally forgotten.

"I'm sorry," he said as sincerely as he could. And then, because he really was, he kissed Wonpil on the forehead. On the bridge of his nose. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Mmmf." Wonpil wriggled up. "Kiss me more."

Younghyun gladly did.

**EVEN LATER:**

"FUCKING FINALLY," Sungjin bellowed.

"What do you mean effing finally," asked Jae. "You barely did ANYTHING, Park Sungjin."

"Wh-what?" Wonpil stammered.

Younghyun, who had been cataloguing every single ambiguously datesque moment in his and Wonpil's shared past, was slightly less surprised.

"EVERY TIME WE LEFT YOU TWO ALONE AT HOME?" Jae demanded.

"I kept calling you guys lovely," lamented Dowoon.

"I thought you were just being loving, Dowoonie," Wonpil told him. Younghyun buried a laugh in the crown of his head. Wonpil sounded distinctly sulky as he said, "Hyung!"

"WHENEVER WE JUST ABANDONED YOU IN THE RECORDING STUDIO," Jae continued loudly.

"I never complained when Wonpilie cuddled you on the sofa," Sungjin managed.

Wonpil, who was currently cuddling Younghyun on the sofa, burst out laughing and dislodged Younghyun's face from his hair.

"What?" Sungjin was asking. "What?"

"Park Sungjin," Jae told him severely, "you don't have a leg to stand on here."

**THE END.**

**Author's Note:**

> something temporally appropriate. as always thanks to bysine for the encouraging reactions; you're the tv ex machina to my writing process.
> 
> (i did, if you're here, also post [an unsoulmates AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28441470) yesterday. so pop on over and have a go, please, it would mean so much.)


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